Three Leaves Left
by rave
Summary: Sequel to "Bryter Layter." In this installment: a part four teaser, and a little rant/explanation. If you've been following the story (I know there's one of you out there! ) you probably should read this.
1. Grace

  
  


_Part One--Grace_

  
  
  
  


_It was so beautiful, so impossibly beautiful. Death grinned from its perch atop the shattered buildings, a red shroud over the small crumpled corpses and the blackened street. God, so much death, so much oblivion, so much beauty that it was painful. She smiled, even while she was crying, all the hate and rage and terror and unhappiness peaking inside of her, the sharp ache in her head and breast almost driving her to her knees. Right beside her, a Muggle girl beamed up from the pavement, bright crimson lips pulled back to show pearly teeth, almost a smile, almost a scream. Her hair was splayed out behind her, bright gold but still sprinkled with that omnipresent scarlet...she was exquisite in death; one hand gripped a bouquet of roses--a gift, perhaps, from the boy who lay next to her, neck twisted at an impossible angle. There was a bright, wet hole right where her middle should be. _

_ She moved her hand over the girl's still-open blue eyes, closing them. And she looked up, the pain almost consuming her, trying to see who...who had done this...there had to be someone left to help...she had to do her job..._

The cloaks were swishing away again. The screaming faded, slowly. She didn't lift her head out of her arms, merely crouched there, shuddering uncontrollably. Why had they come back? The guards only passed her way once every few days, and they never stood outside the bars like that, staring at her, studying her...

There were more steps on the flagstones of the tunnel outside her cell, again the swishing of robes...she moaned softly, clutching at her face...but the screaming never came...

"...does annual rounds of the Prison every year, Dumbledore, and I'm sure he found everything satisfactory...he never complained to me..."

"Fudge is not the sort of man to complain about the treatment of prisoners, Barlow." A mild, comfortable voice. "Even if they are...ah...not in the best shape."

Those were voices. Not screams, not the awful animal sounds that accompanied the visions, but voices...humans...

"Well, don't see why he should. They're hardened criminals, after all, not baby kittens. If they're treated badly, it's their own fault for doing what they did." There was a short pause. "Dumbledore, I don't know why you insisted on coming down here...these were the low-security cells, prisoners were held here pending trial...really, with You-Know-Who gone, there's no one left to be tried. I don't even think there's anyone left in these cells anymore..."

_I'm here,_ she tried to say, but her throat froze up and all that came out was a faint, thin wail. 

The steps stopped, abruptly.

"There is someone here," said the second voice, sharper now, almost urgent. The footsteps came faster, the first voice sputtering "But--but there can't be--"

The woman hugged her knees tighter, dread closing up her throat. What had she done? What if these people were just like the others? What if theirs were the voices she heard, late at night, when the world gabbled in her ears and she had to clutch her head, driving her nails deep into her own flesh, trying to force them away...the ones that drove her to throw herself against the stone walls, to beat her head against the walls in terror and desperation...

Someone was blocking the light of the torch, silhouetted against the bars of her cell. Someone...two people...

She whimpered in anguish. They were going to...going to...

"Who is this, Barlow?" the second voice snapped, echoing in her ears. "_Lumos!_"

There was a bright point of light...

"I...I don't know, Dumbledore...I thought there was no one left in these old cells..."

"Look at her, Barlow! She looks like a corpse...she must have been here for years...you don't even know who she is?"

"I'd--I'd have to check her papers--it could take weeks--"

"Papers," said the woman suddenly. This much she understood. Maybe these...these people could help her understand the message she had received..."I have a paper. It's important, I know it is, but I've forgotten why. Will you help me?"

The old man, possessor of the second voice, bent forward gently to her, smiling. He was important too, something told her...Dumbledore...there were things he needed to know...

She pulled herself forward, clutching her little parchment in one thin hand. She hadn't let go of it since obtaining it...the night before, or that morning, or a week ago...

The old man took it from her, gently. His hands were so warm...she hadn't felt warmth in so long...His face went pale, almost dangerous. "Barlow, this girl has been waiting to be released for fifteen years."

*

"Anika's still in Azkaban?!"

Remus Lupin paced furiously around Dumbledore's desk, running his hands distractedly through his graying hair. "I can't believe it...She was supposed to be held for a month, Dumbledore! A month, while they questioned Sirius...just to see if she'd been involved...What is she _doing_ still in there?"

"They lost her papers, Remus." Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh. "And once all the other temporary prisoners were brought to trial or released, there wasn't even any record that she was still there...the dementors knew, of course, but she was just more meat to them."

The Headmaster had never seen his former student so furious. Remus's amber eyes burned dangerously, every line of his body tensed and ready for murder. "We've got to get her out of there...it's a wonder she's still alive...However did you _find_ her?"

"I had a suspicion," said Dumbledore heavily. "I have contacts all over, and there was no sign of her on the Continent...I know Anika's good at staying low, but I was still not sure. Of course, she might have committed suicide, but...well. Did you hear about young Simon Branford?"

Remus creased his forehead, trying to remember. "Was he that boy who had his papers lost, or something? Just got released from Azkaban?"

Dumbledore nodded. "He was supposed to be there a week--he went at sixteen on charges of drug possession, to teach him a lesson--but they forgot about him. _Forgot about him." _Dumbledore's fists clenched momentarily, then released. He took a deep breath. "Fudge had it quieted down, of course. Public opinion is really turning against Azkaban, especially after Sirius--and Barty Crouch--but our esteemed Minister didn't want any riots in the streets." He smiled, grimly.

"What's that got to do with Ani?" asked Remus impatiently.

"I realized, hearing about Branford, that I had no idea if Ani'd even been released." He registered Remus's short intake of breath, but continued without pause. "If she was still in there, then I knew she had to have lost her papers...I had to give her a way to identify herself. One of my contacts works at the prison. I got him to slip a paper with the words _Anika Donelan_ on it into the food headed for the low-security wing. If she held onto it...I'd know." He straightened. "My hunch paid off. I arranged for a tour of the prison--the entire prison, mind you, not just a round of the main building, the way Fudge does. I pretended I was just curious as to how Sirius escaped...I found her there."

"How are we going to get her out?"

"There's no evidence to hold her on." Dumbledore got up, moving over to Fawkes's cage, and stroked the bird's head meditatively. "Innocent until proven guilty...they'll have to let her go, Remus, they don't have a choice. I'm going to send you to collect her...she can't go to St. Mungo's, Voldemort is sure to find her--remember, he thinks she's dead too, or at least out of his reach--off fighting vampires in Romania, or something. Take her home. I'll send Poppy with you; it's the holidays, we can do without her here for a while. She'll be glad to have something to do." Dumbledore's hand paused on the phoenix's neck, and Fawkes's bright, jewel-like eyes burned into Remus's. "I'm going to have to ask you not to tell Sirius about this."

An expression of confusion crossed Remus's handsome face. "Wh-why not? He's thought she was dead for fifteen years...can you imagine what it'll mean to him to find out she's alive?"

Dumbledore grabbed his friend's forearm, an odd look hovering in those blue eyes, and a deep sadness. "Remus...she's not the Anika you once knew. She may never be the same. She was lucky...the dementors didn't come by her way often...but it was enough." Remus stared back at him, realizing with a sickening jolt what the man meant. "You know Sirius better even than I. He barely accepted losing Anika the first time. What do you think he would do, if he found out that he could have her back--and then he found out Dietrich Barlow and his dementors have been holding her prisoner for fifteen years, that they may well have driven her _mad_? That he'd lost her for a _second_ time?"

Remus stared at the floor, and Dumbledore was reminded of the boy Remus had once been when he spoke again. "He'd blame himself, and then he'd kill Barlow. Or himself. Or both."

"None of which," Dumbledore snapped, "is much help to me, or to Sirius, or to Anika. I shall break the news to him myself, once it becomes clear just what sort of state she's in." The odd look entered his eyes again. "I know it's a lot to ask of you, Remus, but I want you to go to Azkaban for me. Take this--" He had been scribbling down a letter through the first half of their conversation, and he quickly signed it and handed it to Remus, who put it carefully in a pocket. "Show it to the ferryman at Port Gere, and then again to Barlow at the guardhouse. You'll be let in, and be able to get her out without all the paperwork and official bother. Good luck," and Dumbledore wasn't remotely smiling.

*

Remus strode down the torchlit halls, walking as fast as he could. Barlow--_That stupid, incompetent rat_! seethed Remus, raging inwardly--had warned him about running; it made the dementors suspicious. After only five minutes in this hellhole, Remus was already bewildered as to how Sirius had managed to make it through twelve years without going completely mad, even with his...particular powers. Up near the main building, there had been screaming and crying, snatches of old tunes and mindless gibbering...the heavy weight of the dementors' presence, always...

Down this wing, there was constant, absolute silence.

He almost ran, but the guard (human) next to him pulled him back, with a cautionary look. Remus pulled his sleeve free, impatiently, but moderated his pace. Dumbledore had said that Anika was in cell A-32...it couldn't be far...

The guard grabbed him, indicating with a gesture that their target was just ahead. Remus forced himself not to bolt towards what he knew was Anika's cell, kept himself firmly in check...as firmly as he could, at any rate...

They stopped, and Remus stopped with them. At first, he was sure there had been a mistake--the cell had to be empty, there was no sign of human life, not even the slightest tremor in a corner. 

"_Lumos_!" he muttered, and the sudden beam of light from his wand illuminated the entire tiny cage. Remus drew a sudden, involuntary gasp.

The tiny, white-robed figure, cowering in the recesses of the cell...one hand was raised to her forehead, as though trying to block out the light of the wand...could it possibly be Anika?

She was almost skeletally thin...well, Ani had always been thin. But this woman looked so gaunt that it was sickening. Her eyes, deep shadows in that once-pretty face, watched him with so much fear that it made him almost physically ill, and her bony shoulders were hunched protectively around her face. There was no hint of recognition in those still-lovely eyes, no sparkle in her ravaged features...

"Ani," he managed through a throat that seemed to have closed up on him. "Ani. It's me, Remus...don't you remember?"

"Remus," she repeated. Her voice was as thin as her body, gentle and hopeless and cracked.

He snatched the keys from one of the guards nearest him and jammed it into the lock, fumbling with the rusty mechanism until finally there was an audible click. Barely even knowing what he was doing, he yanked the ancient iron bars open...they creaked loudly, echoing down the corridor, and the girl whimpered and pressed her hands against her ears, trying to shut out the unbearable sound. Remus rushed to her, fell to his knees, and held her tightly, forgetting that she had lost any memory of who he was, forgetting that she hadn't known human contact in fifteen years, forgetting...

He pulled back, searching her face for something...anything...

She scoured his face, her eyes still blank and vacant, and suddenly grabbed one of his wrists with a wasted hand. Turned her attention to his hand, studying it closely, running her spidery fingers along every line and furrow of his palm before turning it over, whispering them along his knuckles. He sat unmoving, mesmerized.

Anika suddenly looked back up at him, smiling that beautiful, angelic, _empty_ smile. "Remus," she said again, and then put one hand up to his cheek, those horrible eyes running over his face. Her hands were like ice...colder than ice.

She was singing to herself, softly. 

"_Black-eyed dog, he calls at my door,_

_ The black eyed dog he called for more  
A black eyed dog he knew my name  
A black eyed dog he knew my name  
A black eyed dog  
A black eyed dog.  
I'm growing old and I wanna go home  
I'm growing old and I don't wanna know  
I'm growing old and I wanna go home_.

"But that's not you," she said suddenly. "Who...wolf?"

"I'm going to take you home," he whispered in her ear, gently, trying desperately to keep his voice from breaking along with his heart. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

"Home?" she echoed, her brow wrinkling. "I'd forgotten..."

He tried to help her to her feet, but it soon became apparent that she could barely move by herself; her legs were too wasted, thin from malnourishment and abuse. There were bruises and cuts, caked blood and dirt over every inch of her body--were the wounds self-inflicted? It was a horrible thought--and she was so cold, everywhere, so cold--

Remus scooped her into his arms. She lay there, passive, heart beating frantically against his chest like a bird's. _She's terrified of me,_ he realized in horror. _She doesn't know who I am..._

"I'm not scared," she said suddenly, in that soft, unrecognizable voice. "Home."

He stroked her hair gently, fighting back tears, and carried her through the tunnels toward the courtyard.

The moment the sunlight of the prison yard touched her eyes, she screamed as if blinded, dug herself deep into Remus's chest and screamed, over and over and over until he felt something wet on his robes and realized that she was crying, her face contorted with agony as the tears coursed over her cheeks.

*

Madam Pomfrey emerged from the master bedroom, her round, benign face betraying no expression. Remus, who hadn't even sat down since arriving at the cottage with his precious burden, rushed to her. "Is Ani--is she all right? What's happened to her?"

"She's in a lot of pain, mentally and physically," said the nurse bitterly. "Suffering from just about everything a person can suffer from--I'm exaggerating, Remus," she added quickly, seeing the stricken look on Remus's face. "But that prison..." A dark look crossed Pomfrey's face, just for a moment. "Disgusting, the things that happen to people in there. Malnourishment, minor hypothermia, obviously superficial damage to the skin--" She ticked off every affliction on her fingers. "Sensory damage, from the sudden exposure to the outside world--" Remus flinched-- "and as for emotional damage...I can't even begin to imagine."

"Will she--will she ever--" He tried, barely able to force the words out. "Will she ever get her mind back?"

The sorrow in Madam Pomfrey's eyes as she looked at him almost drove him to the ground. "Remus..."

He waited.

"I don't know. I really don't know. There's nothing I can do about that kind of pain...nothing but wait, and see. Perhaps after she heals from some of this physical abuse, her mind will begin to recover."

"At--at worst?" he croaked.

"At worst," and the sorrow grew deeper, "she'll feel the torture she feels now for every moment of her life. That's what happens to victims exposed for too long to the Cruciatus Curse...they feel that forever, until the day they die...and they die soon."

_Oh, God, Ani..._

"She may, on the other hand, make an emotional recovery but not a mental one...in other words, she'll be happy, but she'll be like a child. You'll have to teach her everything all over again...she may not even be capable of learning it." Madam Pomfrey straightened, methodically massaging the small of her back. "She seems like she wants to see you, though...refused to take a sleeping potion, and all she'll say is 'Remus, Remus.' I've got to go back and tell Dumbledore...Would you..."

"Of course," he said quickly, crossing the floor of the cottage to the door of the bedroom and stepping inside.

She looked even smaller, lying there on the shabby mattress that served as Remus's bed, covered only by the thin sheet. Madam Pomfrey had given her a wash, and the tangled masses of blue-black hair had been painstakingly combed out. There was so much more of it than there had been when they were at school together, and after...it had been carefully kept shoulder-length, then, but now it spread out from behind her head like the rays of the sun, at least three feet long. She looked only slightly better, and her eyes were closed.

"Ani?" he said softly.

She opened them, and he realized with a jolt that they didn't reflect the light...they captured it, drew it in, made it part of themselves...the way Sirius's had, in those few months after his escape. "Remus."

He knelt by the mattress, taking her hand in his own.

She smiled, wearily. "I'm so tired..."

"Sleep, then. I'll get Madam Pomfrey."

"No!" Her hand tightened in his. "I have to talk to you...have to remember...please, it's important..."

_She was talking in full, cognizant sentences. She couldn't remember everything, but she was forming sentences...Maybe, just maybe, she was going to be all right..._ "It's okay, Ani...I'm listening..." He noticed, bizarrely, that now that she was clean she had her old scent back, rather than the coppery, metallic smell that had singed his nostrils when first he'd seen her in the cell..._Just the sort of thing a wolf would notice_, he thought with grim humor.

Her eyes went briefly unfocused. "There's someone...behind me...it's cold...Voldemort. _Voldemort!_" All of a sudden she was panicking, clawing at the blankets as though trying to escape from someone. She was wearing one of Remus's old Muggle shirts; it was far too big for her. He grabbed her shoulders, holding her protectively. "Hush, Ani! Hush. You're safe. He doesn't know you're here."

She stared at him, face stark with terror. "He's coming back...I heard them...talking to each other...a plan...there's a plan...Harry Potter...the de....the de...."

"_Hush_," he said more forcefully, though his mind reeled at the mention of Harry. He missed the boy, though he'd seen him a few times since his teaching job... "Don't think about that now. You need to rest."

"_No!_ No--" And then, slowly, her eyes slid back out of focus. "I...I don't...I..."

"It's all right..."

The vacant smile drifted back onto her face. "Yes..."

"Lie down, now. Drink this." He lifted the goblet of sleeping draft to her lips, and she drank it, dutifully. A moment later, her eyes closed, her fingers relaxed, and she sagged against him, her breathing peaceful and regular at last.

Arms shaking, he lowered her back onto the mat. Could she have heard the other prisoners talking?

Or worse, had she heard the dementors?

There was a sharp scratching at his door.

He turned, surprised and worried. No one ever came down to his little house on the moors; he lived there for that very reason. 

Closing the door softly behind him, he padded across the floor of the shabby living room and drew back the chain bolt at the top of the door, peering through the crack. At first, he could see no one--then he looked down and saw, on the doorstep--

"_Padfoot?_" he hissed, casting a glance to the left and right, half-afraid someone could see him. "What are you doing here?"

The huge black dog barked, pushing its head against the door in an obvious appeal to get inside.

"No!" whispered Remus desperately, pushing at his friend's head, trying to force him back outside. "Nonononono. Go away. You're not supposed to be here!"

The dog gave him a very reproachful look, then slipped nimbly under his arm and darted into the living room, where it remained, looking very smug.

Remus slammed the door and glared at the dog. "Sirius, you _can't_ be here now!" _He'll see Ani_, he thought, panicking. _He'll see Ani and he'll either get totally the wrong idea or he'll go completely mad and either way he just can't be here now!_

The dog was stretching out its paws, which were rapidly becoming too long to be paws, the snout shrinking into its face, the fur atop its head growing into a wild, shoulder-length shock of jet-black hair. 

Sirius Black smiled his trademark crooked smile, and stood up. "Try to contain your enthusiasm, Moony."

"What are you _doing_ here?" hissed Remus, edging surreptitiously in front of the door that led to Anika's room. 

"On the run from the law," said Sirius dramatically. "They've got the mountains staked out for me. Didn't you tell me I could lie low here?"

"Of course, but you should have warned me--Dumbledore doesn't want--I mean--now is a _really bad time_, Padfoot--"

Sirius raised one eyebrow. "If I didn't know better, Moony, I'd swear you were hiding something from me. Honestly, I don't care _how_ many floozies are sleeping in your room right now, and I'll try to ignore the smells of expensive wine and massage oil...Remus, I haven't eaten in six days. Would a piece of toast be such a sacrifice for an old friend?"

"Stop being so goddamned stubborn!" _ I can't kick him out, he'll get caught, and what am I going to do about Ani?_ "All right, just...just stay where you are!"

Sirius looked severely offended. "The fact that you don't trust me with...whatever it is...makes me very sad. I shall nonetheless attempt to live up to your disgustingly low expectations."

"Good of you," said Remus, and he backed into the kitchen, keeping one distrustful eye on his friend.

Sirius had every intention of staying put, but his dog-senses kept niggling him. _There's a smell a smell a smell,_ said Padfoot excitedly, poking the back of his mind with its wet, cold nose. _A new smell, an old smell, a confusing smell. Let's go dig for it. Come on come on come on, come find the smell. Come play. Oh it's a smell, a smell, come and see! Come and _smell_!_

Usually it was easy to quiet the canine side of his mind, but today it seemed particularly insistent, and before he even knew what was going on the change was taking over his body and Padfoot was in control. 

_How did that happen? _wondered Sirius, slightly bewildered, and he was about to change back to his human self when he smelled what Padfoot had first smelled: a delicious sweet-salty tang, emanating from under Remus's bedroom door.

It was too enticing to resist. He crept forward, poking at the door; it fell open easily under his touch, and he stole into the room, dog-senses in an uproar. _Smell smell smell smell oh wonderful smell! What is it what is it?_

He padded towards the bed, ears pricked up and nose twitching madly, and then he poked his head over it.

_Smell smell smell smell rain and_ _wind and ocean, storm-waves and fresh as the air off the bay oh it's so beautiful who--?_

Padfoot faded as Sirius threw off the dog-body like a wet cloak, desperate to see who this was, who this lovely delicious scent could be--

At first, he didn't recognize her...

...and then she opened her eyes.

It was fifteen years of grief and guilt and self-hatred hitting him all at once--and at the same time it was fifteen years of love so violent it choked him, a part of his soul that had been sealed away from the rest of him throwing off its bonds and stepping into the light for the first time in years.

He was completely unable to speak, no sound issuing from his dry lips as he stared, disbelieving, at her. There was something about her, about the curves and planes of that familiar-and-yet-so-far-away face that twisted and jumbled his mind, making the words he so longed to say shy and turn away inches from his lips--even the feelings he longed to feel danced just out of reach as he gasped for breath, reaching out for her--

But then her eyes were wide with fear and rage and betrayal, and before he could react she had flung out one hand--

"Not _again_!" she screamed, and her face was twisted into something entirely unrecognizable--lightning, bluer than an August sky, blasted from her fingertips, slamming into his body and throwing him against the opposite wall.

He gasped in pain, smashing into the floor and feeling something in his bones crack. She was clutching at the sheets, screaming "_No, no, no!_"

*

Remus exploded into the room in a whirl of splinters and wind, screaming inwardly, _That idiot! I told him not to, I told him--_

Anika stared up at him with those light-twisted eyes, crying "He's come back for me...he's going to kill me..."

Remus shot Sirius a look of total rage--and then realized that his friend was grimacing with pain, twisted on the floor as if _he_ had been attacked. "Sirius! What happened?"

"Couldn't help it..." Sirius felt blood rushing past his ears in a frenzy, filling his mind with the dull roar. "The dog smelled her, and I had to follow...Came in here and she...shot lightning at me...Remus, you _found her_?"

Remus rushed over to Anika, grabbing her freezing hands in his own. "It's all right, Ani, no one's going to hurt you..."

"He killed Lily and James!" screamed Anika, shivering violently in his hands. "He killed Peter! Lily James Peter oh god..."

"He didn't kill them," said Remus softly, soothingly. "He was framed, Ani, it was Peter killed them...Sirius was innocent...they put him in Azkaban, but he was innocent..." 

"So was I innocent," said Anika without emotion.

Sirius stared from Remus to Ani, and then back to Remus. "Remus...what's happened to her? She looks half-dead..." His face grew tight, drawn, and so angry that it was agonizing to look at. "If you've hurt her, Remus..."

"She spent fifteen years in Azkaban, Sirius," said Remus quietly, supporting the trembling Anika with one arm. "She was supposed to spend a month there, to keep her from doing anything rash...and to be a witness at your trial, and as a suspected collaborator...but they lost her papers, and you never had a trial...she's been in there ever since..."

What little color was in Sirius's face had drained away, leaving him as pale as ice, his eyes intense dark stars in his white skin. "She...she's been in Azkaban?"

"I have," said Anika unexpectedly, and as Remus whipped around to stare at her, he realized that the blankness was wiped from her eyes, and that they shone with a sort of reverse light, bitter and angry. "Yes."

Sirius stared up at her, shivering. "Ani..."

"Don't speak to me," she whispered in a voice trembling with rage. "How dare you speak to me?" Her voice was building, slowly, to a scream as she rose out of the bed, throwing Remus's arm aside with unexpected force. "You killed them! You _killed me! _You_--_" 

Something snapped in her spine, and she shuddered and went very still for a moment, the whites of her eyes showing, round and pale--and a moment later she was slumped back onto the bed, her eyes hazy and unfocused. "I...but...it's cold, Remus..." and she stared up at him with the petulant, shallow glare of a thwarted child. "Where's Mama?"

"She's dead," croaked Remus.

The flash of a grin lit Anika's face, and she turned her head with a birdlike twitch to Sirius, smiling at him oddly through a face twisted at an unnatural angle. "Good. She's stayed that way, then. Who are you?"

Sirius shot a desperate glance at Remus, and then gulped and looked back at Anika, reaching out one old-man-hand towards her. "I'm..."

"Don't answer," she said suddenly, twisting her head further to the side and running her long hands over the rough blanket. "I don't want to know."

Remus felt himself crumple inside; he stared at Sirius, but his friend was slumped against the wall as if in pain, listening to the soft, merciless voice.

"Is it winter yet? I thought it was summer, for the dog star is high--look, do you see it?--but I think I was wrong." There was a very long silence; then suddenly she broke her gaze with Sirius and stared down at her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers. "Go away now. All of you...go away...I can't speak anymore. Go."

Sirius had dragged himself to his feet and was staring at her, rigid, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "Remus..."

"Go," said Anika, and she smiled again, burrowing into the blankets. "If you come back I'll kill myself."

Sirius fled, Remus not far behind him.

Anika, alone in the room, giggled and flicked out her tongue, a low, guttural, animal growl rising behind the tiny laugh.  


  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Enter the Nightmare

guess who's a vewwy vewy baaaad girl? rave is, rave is! because she's not going to do an extra-long thanks note this time. she would, but she has to put this up NOW so it will stop hanging about on her computer and irritating hell out of her because for some reason she hasn't put it up. [she does want to say sorry to jeremy because she never emailed him that would-be mp3. it would NOT CONVERT which made her very mad. grr.]

i'm so sorry this has taken so long. anyone who's ever taken a set of midterm exams or dealt with the college application process will sympathize with me. the rest of you: YOU LUCKY BASTARDS. get out of the system while you can.

dedicated to stinky and cassie just because.

[DISCLAIMER: Anika has NO BIG SUPERNATURAL POWERS YOU DON'T KNOW ABOUT. She's *not* going to turn out to be an elemental. She's not going to get pregnant with the Child of Destiny. She's *not* going to go running off on a (successful but oh-so-tragic) suicide mission against Voldie who later turns out to be her true father. This I swear.]

  
  


* * *

Three Leaves Left--Part Two

Enter the Nightmare

* * *

_Harry didn't know who he was running from, but he was running--faster than he'd ever gone before, and yet intensely aware that it wasn't fast enough. The trees reached out long, whippy branches towards his limbs and eyes--whether to help or hurt him he couldn't tell, didn't want to know._

_ [one two three we all were drowned at sea]_

  
  


It was midnight, and still Sirius sat at Remus's kitchen table, staring straight ahead at the wall. The tic in his cheek was still going, like a reflex, and his fists clenched and unclenched. Two napkins lay in tiny shredded bits around his feet.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked at last, in an even, controlled tone.

Remus, sitting in front of the fire, did not look up. 

"Answer me," said Sirius in deceptively expressionless tones. "Answer me now, Remus, or I swear on James's grave I will tear you to rags."

"You couldn't if you tried," said Remus, ripping a tassel from the hearthrug and hurling it into the flames. "Werewolf strength."

"Right now," said Sirius dangerously, "I could."

Remus turned to him, disgusted, and climbed to his feet. "You're such a spoiled brat sometimes, Padfoot."

The raven-haired man laughed suddenly, pushing his chair back from the table and rising in one violent motion to his feet. "Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me you'd found her?" All pretense of calm was gone, and fire crackled in every line of his body, raging and uncontainable. 

"Maybe," hissed Remus, throwing himself to his feet and pushing himself face to face with his friend, fists clenched and blood pounding in his ears, "maybe I'll be able to explain it to you after you explain to me why you didn't let me know when you changed Secret-Keepers--"

and now he was so angry he could hardly hear his own voice, and all the sounds in the room were tinny and distant-- "--maybe this isn't about Anika at all, Sirius."

"Maybe it was _never_ about Anika!" Sirius's teeth were bared, his shoulders tightened aggressively like a tiger in a trap--

And then the door opened, and someone's voice, shocked and horrified--"_Sirius!_ What are you doing?!"

_ His breath was hitching painfully in his throat, and his side ached so badly that whenever his foot hit the ground he saw stars. He couldn't go on, it was too far, and he could hear whatever it was behind him, loping at an easy, relaxed pace twice as fast as his own._

_ [three four five not one was left alive]_

  
  


Remus felt an unpleasant drop in his stomach as his head turned of its own accord and he saw her.

Anika stood in the doorway, still wearing the too-big dress shirt and her hair in wild, tangled waves down past her hips; she was glaring at them furiously, her mouth set in an angry, tight line. "What the hell is going on?"

Remus's jaw dropped. "A--A--"

"For god's sake stop gaping, Moony, and answer me!" One foot tapped furiously on the wood of the floor, and one hand curled itself tensely in her hair as she turned dark, burning eyes on a speechless Sirius. "Sirius, I thought you told me you were going out. What are you doing back? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Something splintered in Sirius's face. 

  
  


_ There was something around his ankles--mud, he thought in panic, or glue--sucking viscously around his legs until he could only move at a tiny, tiny pace, expending so much effort, fighting and thrashing and finding himself only a step ahead. _

_ [four five six, we rowed across the styx]_

Anika's eyes darted from him to Remus, slowly growing into panic. "R-Remus?"

"Don't," said Sirius suddenly, hoarsely, sitting down very suddenly like a puppet with its strings cut and burying his hands in his hair. "Don't do this to me. Please."

"Anika," whispered Remus.

"What _is_ it? Will you two please stop saying 'Anika, Anika?' I know my own name--"

"Anika." He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself under control. "What day is it today? What year?"

She made an attempt at a nervous little laugh; it flopped woodenly in the air and collapsed. "I don't understand."

Sirius suddenly lunged at her and caught her wasted wrist with unexpected strength, pulling her to him. She bit back a gasp, trying to pull away. "What day is it? Answer!"

"N-November," she whispered, her eyes wide and terrified. "November first. Nineteen-eighty-one."

Sirius swore and let go of her, so suddenly and violently that she stumbled against the opposite wall, staring at him with shadowed eyes through her curtain of tangled hair, her breath coming heavy and ragged through her half-open mouth.

  
  


_ But just ahead was the clearing, he thought vaguely, and if he could only reach it--he burst through the last fence of trees and collapsed on his knees in front of the long, flat slab, finally safe..._

_ He looked up. The stone in front of him seemed to glow with a faint, white light that had nothing to do with the full moon overhead; the long, deep-etched trenches in the rock, sloping down towards the pale stone basin at the foot of the stone._

_ He reached out; the stone was obscenely warm and yielding under his fingers, and a fine damp skin wreathed over it, like sweat._

_[five six seven, there was no room in heaven]_

Remus found that he could not even look at her, or at Sirius; instead he turned and swept away, collapsing into a chair and turning his head to the wall, closing his eyes so tightly he could see explosions of red behind them.

"I don't _understand_," said Anika again, her voice despairing. "Please...please, someone explain it to me." There was a silence, and then, tremblingly, "Sirius?"

He did not answer.

"Fine," said Anika, anger edging her tones. "I'm going to Lily and James's , then. Maybe they'll be able to--"

"They're dead," said Sirius tonelessly.

The sound of footsteps toward the door stopped. Remus looked up.

"But..." and her horrified eyes focused on Sirius, seeming to see him for the first time. "They can't...you were their Secret-Keeper...you didn't...oh God, you didn't...Sirius, why do you look so _old?_"

  
  


_He jerked away from it, but it was too late; the contact of his fingertips with the stone had caused something--something--the warm skin/stone was rising, bulging, pulling itself into the shape of a person--someone chained to the stone. Something dark dripped down the rivulets and into the bowl...it was filling, slowly, agonizingly slowly... _

_The person screamed and writhed in agony. The boy dropped to his knees._

_[six seven eight, they'd closed and locked the gate]_

  
  


Sirius laughed. The sound ratcheted down Remus's spine, making him shudder. 

"This isn't funny," said Anika, tightening her fists into balls so tight that her knuckles went pale. "Damn it, Sirius, this _isn't funny_."

"Isn't it?" The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had come. Sirius's fingers were scrabbling with something on the table, and then suddenly he shoved it out towards her. It was a piece of broken glass from a mirror that had used to hang in the hall until Remus, in a fit of early morning pique, had knocked it off the wall. He'd put it on the table, guiltily intending to one day glue it back together, but had never gotten around to it; and now Sirius was clutching a piece of it so tightly that blood oozed from where its edges touched his fingers. Through clenched teeth--"Look at that, Ani. _Look at it_."

  
  


_Only now was the person's substance gathering itself into facial features...he bent over, trying to see who it was--horrified eyes stared into his own--_

Why did you do this to me?_ mouthed Hermione, before collapsing into another spasm of anguish._

_ [eight nine ten, so we fell to earth again]_

  
  


Anika looked.

  
  


_ You did this to me!_

  
  


Harry Potter woke up screaming, his breath coming in agonized sobs. 

At first, he didn't know where he was. The looming, shadowy figures around him bore no trace of familiarity; they were monoliths, he thought in terror--huge, ancient stones out of prehistory, stained with blood and--

They were beds, he realized with a rush of relief so violent it hurt. He almost laughed, breathing in deeply and forcing himself to relax. Only canopy beds...not giant stones, not trees in some primeval forests, not creatures out of nightmare...only beds, and he was lying in his own bed in the Gryffindor dormitory...nothing was wrong....

On shaking legs, he clambered out of his own bed and tottered into the bathroom.

The tap squeaked when he turned it on. It always did that; it was another comforting familiarity, he thought, splashing cold water on his face and taking another deep breath. It was so strange, being the only sixth-year Gryffindor boy still at school over the holidays. Ron had wanted to stay, but had been sucked into a family vacation to visit Charlie in the Black Forest, and of course Seamus, Dean and Neville always went home for the holidays. Still the dormitory seemed almost alien sometimes...especially late at night, after he had woken from another one of the dreams.

Tonight had been the worst in a long while. Always the person on the stone had a different face...sometimes they were strangers, but more often they were friends. Cedric Diggory. Cho Chang, once. Ginny Weasley several times, and her brother Ron at least twice. Even Draco Malfoy, once--and as much as Harry hated him, it was worse to see him in such pain, to know that it was his, Harry's, fault.

And a few times the face was Hermione Granger's. 

There was always a sense that somehow, if he hadn't been so anxious to save himself by running into the grove, if he hadn't touched the stone, the person would not be in such torment--they would be happy...if it wasn't for Harry Potter, they would never have ended up there.

_Damnit_, he thought furiously, shoving his entire head under the tap, feeling the frigid water course in icy rivulets through his hair. With a gasp, he threw his head back, shaking his head furiously so that water spattered through the room. Feeling very awake, he peered at the corners of the bathroom, checking for strange movements, for skitterings in the shadows.

There was a yawn from just above his head. Harry looked up in surprise, into his own bright green eyes and tousled, pillow-abused hair. "What are you doing up so early?" asked the mirror, angrily. "You woke me up."

"Sorry," mumbled Harry. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall; _Far too early_, read the longest hand, and _3:48 _the other two.

He let out a long sigh and tiptoed out of the bathroom, freezing water still dripping down his ears. The December drafts made his head feel like it had been bathed in liquid nitrogen; he snatched the comforter off his bed and wrapped it around himself like a cloak, shivering violently. There was no point in going back to bed. Harry didn't feel like dreaming again.

He yanked the curtains open and peered outside. The night was stark and bleak; unusual for this time of year in that it had not snowed, but the wind was strong, and licked the barren, wintry hills threateningly. Stars shone coldly above, ringed about a pallid half-moon. Trees, gnarled and withered, grasped up towards the shadowed sky like drowning hands.

Harry shuddered and pulled the curtains close again, muffling the room in darkness.

God, he hated this room when he was all alone. So dark, it was, with so many strange shapes. The ceiling was so high...there was a constant fear of something...lurking...up in that peaked witch's hat of a ceiling, something dark and shadowy and misshapen--

He pulled the curtains open again, gasping aloud. The icy light of the moon was less than comforting. What was wrong with him? What was he so afraid of? _I've got to talk to someone before I go mad. I'm going mad and I'm only sixteen. Get me out of here, get me out..._

Fumbling for his wand on the nightstand, he muttered, "_Lumos totallus._"

The torches flickered in their sconces and finally lit, illuminating every crevice of the room. Harry sat down hard on his bed, hating himself, and stared at his shaking hands for a few moments. These midnight fits had never been as bad as this...usually, after the nightmares, he could just wake up and get back to sleep, but tonight...

He closed his eyes, and then opened them again. He couldn't be alone, he just couldn't...Maybe...

It was almost too embarrassing to consider, but not quite.

Hermione would understand.

He got up, padded soundlessly to the door, and tiptoed out into the suddenly cavernous stairway...down into the common room, intending to cross to the girls' dormitories. It was mortifying, but he just had to know that someone else in the tower was _alive_.

Someone called out, "Harry?"

He jumped and whipped around; a small figure, clad in a shroud of blanket similar to his own, stepped forward into the faint slant of light from the window, swaying slightly. "Not asleep?"

"Hermione." His insides sagged in relief. "God, it's creepy here at night, isn't it?"

She nodded silently, and turned towards the window, her masses of exuberantly curly hair silver in the moonlight. "I hate being alone in this tower. It's all right when Lavender stays on, but I just..."

"I know," he said simply, sitting down hard in one of the squashy armchairs. "I couldn't sleep either."

Hermione groaned and collapsed next to him. "Harry, this is ghastly. I usually _love_ the holidays."

He made a horrible face at her. "You're telling _me._ I'm the one who has to unwrap my present from you over a course of about an hour because I don't want to rip the hand-made tissue made out of dried maple leaves and fragrant pine needles, or the spellotape made of squirrel spit and boiled walnuts--"

Hermione whacked him playfully with a pillow. "Just because I don't wrap presents in Kleenex, like _some_ people I could mention--"

"I only did that _once_, and it was the patterned kind anyway--"

"Ooh yes, the sort with little candy canes on it. I suppose you think that makes you a proper Martha Stewart."

Harry grinned at her. "I love it when you flatter me."

She stared up at him, and a faint smile lit her own features, just barely visible in the moonlight. "Mm."

It seemed to Harry that Hermione had...changed, in strange and vaguely threatening female ways, over the past year. It was inexplicable, indescribable, and he was not entirely comfortable with it. Sometimes they, who'd used to be so comfortable with each other, were so awkward, the way he'd once been with Cho, or...well, like Hermione was a _girl_ all of a sudden.

Maybe it had started when she and Ron had started going out, at the beginning of fifth year. That had made her femininity a subject rather difficult to ignore, especially when Ron started prattling on about her in the library or the dormitory, or in the middle of class, about her hair, or her eyes, or her smile. But Harry hadn't really paid much attention. They were still both _his_ friends, after all, even if they were more than friends with each other.

After they'd broken up--perfectly amicably, but with a very deep understanding that they were better off not trying to push the relationship beyond friendship--it was then that Harry had started to notice this _change_, this abrupt girl-ness. It was making things very complicated.

"Mmf," said Harry uncomfortably, edging away from her. 

She looked surprised, and somehow hurt, but sat up very quickly and smoothed her hair uncomfortably. "Sorry."

"'Salright, you didn't do anything." He turned away, staring out the window again. 

"Why were you up?" Hermione's voice was almost a whisper.

"I...had a bad dream." The words came out childish, scared.

"So did I," said Hermione tonelessly. "I hate this. Let's go down and get breakfast."

"It's too early..."

"I know." There was a catch in her voice.

He looked over at her in surprise. She looked like she was about to cry: her bottom lip was shaking just slightly, and her nose was faintly pink. "Hermione, what--"

"I don't want to talk about it." Hermione stood up, passing a hand absently over her eyes. "We should eat. They won't care; it's the hols anyway, things aren't _normal_."

Harry scratched the back of his head confusedly, looking up at her. "You don't suppose it'll be a problem that we're wearing blankets? I--couldn't find my robe." _You mean you were too scared to open the closet, you baby..._

"No one's awake, you dumb git, that's what I was just saying. " A grin, or at least an attempt at one that twisted up one side of her mouth and didn't even get near her eyes. "Come on." The blanket dropped from her shoulders like liquid, slinking onto the sofa. Her pajamas were too big, and pooled around her slippered feet in blue cotton puddles_. _Harry glanced at his own bare feet and shivered slightly; Hermione followed his gaze. "Harry! You ought to at least put on some socks--"

"I'm all right," mumbled Harry, going slightly red. "Don't worry about it."

Hermione looked back up, met his eyes with her own worried brown ones. "Please put on some."

_I don't want to go back up there!_ "I'd rather not," he said, forcing as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

She shook her head in disbelief. "You have to put something on your feet! Go on, just run back to your dorm and grab some socks or something, I'll wait..."

"_I'm not going back up there!_" It was so vehement that she stumbled away from him, tripping over the too-big pajama pants and falling into a chair. He gasped. "Hermione, I'm so sorry--I didn't mean to--"

"What kind of dream did you _have_?" she whispered in horror. 

"I--" He buried his face in his hands, running his fingers over his skin so hard it hurt. "God, Hermione, I can't even...I can't even talk about it..."

Hermione tilted her head to one side, climbing slowly to her feet. "How's..." She motioned vaguely at her forehead.

"Nothing." He shook his head. "Doesn't hurt."

She frowned and sat back down, staring worriedly at him, and rested her chin in one hand. "But...you haven't had this dream more than once, have you?"

He laughed softly, and shifted position so that his shoulder muscles--aching from a particularly violent wrestling match with a roll of wrapping paper the day before--were better cushioned by the pillows. "If I say yes, that's bad, isn't it?"

Hermione wrinkled her forehead. "If you say 'I'll take care of it, Hermione,' in really, really manly tones, I bet it will turn out fine in the end."

"Manly is good," agreed Harry. "But then I have to strap on my sword and gird my loins and all that, and then you have to weep and wring your hands and hang all over me. I just don't have the energy for that kind of thing, I don't think. Loin-girding, I mean."

"Sounds demanding," agreed Hermione.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing, harder maybe than the exchange demanded--as though the laughter could expel the cold that seemed to have come over the room.

Harry took a deep breath and flopped backward on the couch, grinning up into Hermione's teasing eyes. "Well? Should we go downstairs?"

She shrugged--"I see no good reason why not--" And offered him a hand, hoisting him into a standing position. There was a little pause, where they stood grinning at each other like idiots, and then she made a little shuffle with her feet and kicked something at him. Harry glanced down at it. It was a white, fluffy slipper--only one. He looked back up at her, uncomprehending.

"One cold foot is better than two," Hermione said faintly. "Put it on."

He almost laughed again. "My foot'll never fit..."

"You'd be surprised," she said dryly, poking it at him. "Go on."

Sighing heavily, he slid his toes into the slipper. "You see, I told you..." And then, to his own great surprise, the rest of his foot followed.

"Why, you're the girl from the ball, Harryrella!" cried Hermione, clasping her hands together dramatically. "And this whole time I thought you were just a little cinder-girl."

Harry glared at her.

"One size fits all," she said helpfully, smirking a bit. "You needn't have worried. I got them at Zonko's. Shall we go?"

"Why'd they carry these at Zo...." Harry began worriedly, but she grabbed his arm and dragged him downstairs before he could finish. As they turned into the corridor leading to the kitchen, the slipper on his foot suddenly bit him, hard, and he yelped and kicked it against a wall. Hermione burst out laughing and then, seeing the expression on his face, screamed with sudden apprehension and giggles and fled down the hall as he chased after her, shaking his fist furiously.

*

She didn't do anything dramatic, like scream or fall into a faint; the only sign that she had seen the face that stared back at her was the slightest twinge of a finger, an involuntary blink. "That can't be me."

"You have to believe it," said Remus in tones as gentle as he could force through his painfully tight throat. "I know you don't want to."

"That doesn't happen to people," said Anika hoarsely, as though she had not heard him. "That doesn't happen. You can't fall asleep and wake up like this--that isn't me--it can't possibly be." Her voice was rising to an almost hysterical pitch. "It's a trick mirror--I don't believe it, I don't believe you!"

Sirius said, thickly, "Then what are you so afraid of?"

"Shut _up_," hissed Remus, furious. "For God's sake don't make it worse."

Anika shoved a fist into her mouth, biting down hard on one white knuckle. When she looked up again, her eyes--huge in the skeletal face--were rimmed with white, like a panicked cat's. She moved so fast it was almost a blur, sinking down to stare intently at Sirius, who held her burning gaze with his own. "If you're lying to me--"

"Can't you tell I'm not?" The tone was dulled, almost numb. "Can't you tell I couldn't?"

There was a long, thick pause. Two pairs of blazing eyes, one grey-black and one purple-black, ripped into one another.

And then Anika swallowed, and turned away, breaking the silence with the ripple of cloth. She set the mirror fragment down on the table--each movement so fierce it trembled, even as it fought against fear. "What happened to me? To--to you?"

"Azkaban," said Sirius simply, and it was that single word that did what the mirror could not. Anika stood absolutely motionless for a moment, shaking just the tiniest bit, before giving out a little gasp of cold air and crumpling on legs that seemed too frail to have held her up in the first place.

*

"I suppose you know I've felt her." The voice was somewhere between a rasp of metal, a hiss of triumph and a murmur of thought.

The man on the floor nodded silently, not looking up.

"It does not please you?" There seemed to be an almost delighted edge to the voice now, like a knife wrapped in silk.

The man clenched his fist. A gleam of silver mirrored on the walls for a single moment, and then flickered away. "Of course it does, Lord."

"You're lying," and the delight was plain now. "I thought I had trained you beyond this sentimental nonsense."

When the man spoke again, his voice was flat and unemotional, the finality of the words underscored by the sudden movement that brought him to his feet. The possessor of the metallic voice followed him with glinting, half-closed eyes, making no other motion. "I told you I was beyond it. I told the truth." He made a curt motion with his head. "I do as you command."

"And yet you do not kneel."

"I have kneeled," said the man softly, "for a very long time." It was not a statement of defiance; it was a simple truth, a resigned, soft breath of something that was almost sorrow and not quite dignity. "You know where my loyalties lie."

The voice did not acknowledge the words except in a long, exhaled hiss, the heavy-lidded eyes gleaming, searching out the truth of the statement. A moment later: "We were expecting this. You shall do what we discussed."

Peter Pettigrew nodded shortly and turned away, and the air exploded into the space where he had been.

The first speaker moved for the first time, reaching out a long-fingered white hand for the glass of deep red liquid on the side of his chair. It raised the goblet to the torches that were the room's only source of light, swirling the liquid slowly, burning it with a supernatural red-orange gaze. Flames seemed to flicker like oil across the surface of the wine, swirling into patterns, pulling into the shape of a face and then--

"_Ophelia_," and the dagger in the tones sheathed itself in silk again as a pale hand crushed the glass into glittering splinters, like sharp-edged tears.


	3. Take These Things for Granted

*peeks into the room* hellooooo? babies? it is I, the long-delinquent rave! bearing chapters! full of half-naked Draco! 

short A/N today to make up for the hugely enormous thanks section. *g*

WARNING WARNING WARNING: This story contains a bisexual canon character. that means there's a little glimpse of two BOYS getting it on in a bathtub. If that offends you, I feel sorry for you. No, I really do. Go home. If not, read on, brave soldier.

you've now, i feel, been amply warned. It's not a major plot point--yet--but the content IS there. So don't be too shocked. 

next warning: just because this _looks _like H/H don't mean it will _remain _H/H. all bets are off, in the tll universe. (except no intergenerational ickiness. that tends to squick me. Sirius/Hermione, for instance...*shudder*. Though Harry/Hedwig would presumably be a possibility--just for you, Simon.) 

have fun...

* * *

Three Leaves Left--Part III

Take These Things for Granted

* * *

I'm listening:  
Music in the bedroom,  
Laughter in the hall,  
Dive into the ocean,  
Singing by the fire...  
Running through the forest,  
And standing in the wind  
In rolling canyons--  
  
I will not take these things for granted,

I will not take these things for granted,

I will not take these things for granted anymore.

-Toad the Wet Sprocket  


* * *

Anika's eyes snapped open to the sudden press of a board-like pallet under her back, the rough hard colors of the sunlit 

ceiling burning into her brain. She shut them again quickly and passed a shaking hand over her forehead, trying to hold back the flood of repressed memories for as long as she could. 

_I've got to go out, Ani_...

[i ought to be back in an hour or two]

_It's all right, Ani, no one's going to hurt you_...

[oh, you know, work]

_They put him in Azkaban, but he was innocent_...

[don't worry about it, love]

_What day is it today? What year?_...

[i love you]

_Answer!_

[you look so beautiful tonight]

She gasped as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over her head and sat straight up, throwing her legs off the side of the pallet and feeling the sudden, jarring shock as they hit the floor several seconds before they should have. It wasn't a bed, she realized dully, it was just a mattress on the floor. This was...Remus's house. She'd been in the kitchen, just a moment ago...she'd seen Sirius...

Oh God.

Unless that was part of the dream. It was so confusing, sorting dream from reality. She remembered, vaguely, hearing a story once about a poet who dreamed he was a butterfly and then awoke not knowing whether he was man or insect. 

_Well,_ thought Anika blearily,_ at least I'm sure I'm not a butterfly. That's something of a relief._

She shook her head violently, refusing to think too long about these disturbing metaphysical anecdotes, and leaned over to absently massage her ankles. Her spine creaked warningly, and she gave a stifled gasp as a muscle in her shoulder spasmed painfully and then said, just for the sake of hearing something, "Shit! Ow!"

Her voice rasped and hurt on its way out of her throat. She swallowed hard.

Slowly she stood up, steadying herself on a forlorn, cheap little chest of drawers_. _There was an unfamiliar weight on her head..._my hair,_ she realized with mild surprise. _I never noticed how heavy it was. I guess I never grew it long before_. _It's going to be hell, trying to brush out this mess. I'll have to get it cut. _She wondered, groggily, if they still had hairdressers in this strange new world.

So Azkaban wasn't a dream. It couldn't have been, not with this mass of tangled black evidence it had left on her. This was something of a rude shock. Anika pushed it forcibly to the side of her mind and flatly refused to think about it. _If what Remus said wasn't a dream, then I've thought plenty about Azkaban for the past fifteen years._

Sirius sirius sirius.

No. He probably had never been here--that had to be part of the dream. After what he'd done, surely Remus would never let him back near him...ever. Of course not.

_A cool drink of water. Yes. Before I think about any of this, before I let it into my mind, I should go get something to drink._

_ I can, now. I'm free to...I..._

No no no no, she couldn't think about freedom. She didn't want to cry...God, she hated to cry. _Free. I will not let it overwhelm me, I refuse..._

She tottered out the door on unsteady legs and headed for the kitchen.

It wasn't hard to find, being right across from her room, and there were already a pile of apparently clean glasses on the counter. 

Damn. She'd kind of been looking forward to doing dishes again. She would have laughed at this revelation, but her throat hurt too much.

She shoved one under the tap and turned it on, drumming one hand on the side of the sink as she did so. God, the tap was an _amazing_ invention, wasn't it? The soothing, liquid sound it made...she'd forgotten how much she missed these so-ordinary things.

When the glass was full, she turned off the water and took a long, grateful sip, feeling the cool liquid wash over her parched lips and mouth....

She didn't quite know why the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, as though she could feel someone's gaze on her back...but she turned, and she saw him standing there, and all the comfortable pretense of normalcy she had tried to erect around herself fell away.

*

  
  


Hermione gave a little sigh of relief as she slipped around the corner. Harry was wonderful company, and he was smart and he was funny but she didn't want to spend her _entire vacation_ talking to him about Quidditch matches. A girl had to have some lone time. Anyway, he'd said he wanted to go up to the Owlery to send a message. _Probably something for Sirius, _she thought.

He couldn't honestly think that she believed _Quidditch_ was the only thing on his mind, could he? She knew better. It was perfectly obvious that something was seriously wrong in Harry's soul and it had nothing to do with the Chudley Cannons' losing streak... 

The hall was long and lit grey with winter morning sunlight, shafting through the tall windows on one side. Right now, the room at the end of it was nirvana; right now, all she wanted was a nice, warm bath, one that smelled good and felt good and soothed away all the nightmares.

The door to the East Prefects' bathroom was small and unimposing, with the Hogwarts crest inscribed above it. It responded to a spoken password, but there was also a little silver keyhole, and Hermione, for her own probably-neurotic reasons, liked using the key. It made her feel...official. She drew the little silver latchkey on its thin chain out of her robes and turned it in the keyhole, savoring the musical little _click_ it made. And then, pushing the door open, she heard the voice inside and froze.

"...you came?"

A splashing. _Two_ bodies splashing. 

Hermione's eyes widened. She'd never considered herself much of an eavesdropper, but she found herself too fascinated to do the Honorable Thing, which would be to close the door and run like hell for the South Prefects' Bathroom instead. No, she was just standing there like some kind of sick voyeur, listening to--_What _had the first voice just said?...

"...said you wanted me." Hermione recognized the tones--it was the Head Boy, Alex Blake. Nice, for a Slytherin, with a distinctive, rich baritone. What was he doing in the bath with--

"Don't make this into a lie." She couldn't tell anything about this voice. It could have been male, female, anywhere from fifteen to thirty. Still, it sounded oddly familiar...maybe the echoes, the tiles, had distorted it--

_Thirty?_

Oh my _god._

Leave! Hermione's mind shrieked at her. Things are happening here! Bad things! Things of which your mother would very strongly disapprove!

It was this last argument that prevented Hermione from taking to her heels immediately.

There was a longer session of splashing, and then a short, low, moaning, _human_ sound. Hermione squinched her eyes shut, felt her ears burning, but her feet were quite firmly glued to the ground. I'm not a pervert! I want to leave, I just _can't_...

There was a very long silence, and then Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder.

She opened one eye.

A dripping wet Draco Malfoy, clad only in a white towel slung carelessly over narrow hips, stood in front of her, eyebrows arched.

"Oh," said Hermione weakly, opening the other eye. 

"There's no more room in the bath," said Malfoy sweetly, "if that's what you were wondering."

"I--you--not supposed to--more than one person in the bath," stammered Hermione, trying to act like a proper prefect. "I'll have to report you--as a prefect, you ought to have known--er--"

A grin tinged the edge of Malfoy's mouth. Hermione, to her own horror, found herself reacting to the fact that he was strangely attractive, if a bit skinny--well-defined muscles, white-gold hair made tousled by the water, smooth, pale skin and long, upswept blue-grey eyes. 

_Well,_ she thought darkly, _I guess it was about time. _As far as she knew, she was one of about three girls in Hogwarts who _hadn't_ yet fallen for Draco Malfoy. At the moment, it was Cassandra Izcovich, an exotic-looking Ravenclaw redhead with the kind of looks that made grown men weep; this had lasted for about two weeks so far, which was probably some kind of record. Even Parvati Patil had done a requisite week of dating, which had ended in floods of tears and many, many torn up pictures of Malfoy all over the girls' dorm. _I was starting to think I was abnormal._

Girls...

But Malfoy was in the bath with...

_Whoa_.

Malfoy tilted his head to one side and regarded her through half-closed eyes, the grin becoming sardonic. "Are you leaving yet?"

Hermione's face was so hot that it almost hurt. Seeming to float momentarily outside of her own body, she imagined herself as a giant, overgrown Rudolph's nose, beaming humiliated Christmas cheer into every corner of the Prefect's bathroom. "Y-y-yes--I--" Why was she letting him make her feel as though _she _was the one who ought to be embarrassed?!

"_Love_ly," said Malfoy, picking up the nearest bottle of shampoo and shoving it into her hands. It was kiwi-strawberry-flavored; there was about half left. "Take this as a farewell gift. Ta."

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, clutching the bottle, burning with embarrassment and utterly unable to move.

Malfoy regarded her for a moment more, and then said in tones that sounded almost sympathetic, "Here. Listen close. I have a suggestion for you." He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "A good thing to do now would be to turn around--that's right, like that--and open that door--very good--and go out."

She was in the hallway.

"You're a quick learner," drawled Malfoy. "Bright girl. Unfortunately--" He leaned forward, one long finger just brushing her jaw, tantalizing--what the _fuck_ did he think he was doing? She wanted to slap him, the bastard--she _would_ slap him, but her arm muscles were betraying her and refused to move. "This bathroom's quite full. Go take a bath in the Hufflepuff corridor. Do you need directions?"

Enough is enough, thought Hermione furiously. "No, I do _not_ need directions, Malfoy. But shall I fetch the two of you a _condom_ while I'm out?"

Malfoy grinned at her and, without missing a beat, said, "No thanks, I've already got three."

"Well. You _are_ being foul today, aren't you?"

He bowed mockingly. "And the sun rose in the east. Any other breaking news you want to deliver?"

She forced a grin-- "Only that your towel is slipping."

Draco's smile, unlike his towel, didn't slip an inch. "Why, lucky you."

"I hate you," said Hermione dully, as if by rote.

"Good. I hate surprises." Draco smiled at her. He had a wide, white, sardonic smile; a dimple creased in his left cheek, almost incongruous in the lean, bleached face.

Hermione tossed her head, gathering what sad small scraps of dignity she had left about herself. "That makes two of us. And _I _had to run into _you_, naked, so I've taken my quota of unpleasant surprises for the day." _That wasn't _so_ unpleasant, you liar._

_ Well, the _circumstances_ were pretty goddamn awful._

Draco threw his head back and laughed, a short, sharp bark of noise, with a note of something that was almost surprise and almost gratification. When he lowered his head again, there was a hint of mirth in the cold gray eyes. "All right. If I pretend you _won_ this exchange, will you go away?"

She nodded stiffly. "But I want your solemn word as a Malfoy that I won. Or that you won't fire some kind of cheap parting shot."

The dimple crept into his cheek, almost a genuine smile there for a moment. "All right. On my father's deathbed--may it not be long off. You win. No cheap last laugh. But I'm the one slamming the door here." And he winked abominably at her and shut the door.

Hermione turned around and didn't stop running until she'd reached the exact opposite end of the castle, where she collapsed against the legs of the statue of Boris the Bewildered and hid her face in her hands, utterly humiliated. 

"What'd you do _this _time, Granger?" asked an oily voice from around the ceiling region.

"Go _away_, Peeves!" said Hermione furiously. "Go away or I _swear_ I'll make you sorry!"

"Oooh? What're you going to do, Goody-two-shoes Granger? Hit me?" inquired Peeves nastily. Something whacked her on the top of the head and bounced to the floor. She picked it up and glared at it.

It appeared to be a raisin.

"Leftover," explained Peeves cheerily, pelting her with several more, "from the preparations for the Christmas feast, you know. So," and he flipped upside-down and grinned at her through his legs, "who'd you embarrass yourself in front of? Did you walk out of the bathroom with your robes unbuttoned? Misfire your decoration spell and end up with an ornament up your conk?" Another raisin. Several raisins in a row. Trying to ignore the poltergeist, Hermione picked them absently out of her hair and tossed them moodily down the hall. "And who'd you do it in front of, eh? Who's that important? Was it--" Peeves's voice took on the low, slimy tone it always did when he was about to say something particularly odious "Potty wee Potter, perhaps?"

Without even looking up, Hermione hurled the bottle of shampoo. 

Her aim was impressive. It struck Peeves full in the face and burst, showering him with strawberry-kiwi-flavored bath product and sending him cursing down the hall.

It was so satisfying that she almost smiled.

*

The first thing in Anika's mind was raw terror.

peter lily james

no no no no no NO

She scrabbled desperately behind her for a weapon, something, anything, and her grasping hand fell on the serrated bread knife lying on a cutting board just behind her. She seized it and thrust it out in front of her, wobbling slightly, and said, as steadily as she could manage, "Don't move a step further. Don't."

He stopped, dark eyes wide in horror and surmise, and stumbled backwards--but there was something else in those eyes, something like the hurt and the betrayed anger in her own.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly, cursing her voice for the way it _would_ wobble up and down the scale with no regard for her own dignity. "Are you back to finish the job you started?"

Sirius looked away from her, wide mouth set in a tight line, and closed his eyes. "You don't know..."

"I know _everything_," said Anika bitterly. "I know where I am. I know about the fifteen years in Azkaban, I know about Peter and Lily and James and most of all I know about you, you traitor, you fucking _coward!_"

He sank slowly against the wall, face hidden in his hands. It hurt, it hurt so much to see him like that but how could he have done what he did? How could he have betrayed them all? What kind of fucking _God-given right did he have to take the easy way--_

[He didn't kill them. He was framed, Ani, it was Peter killed them...Sirius was innocent...they put him in Azkaban, but he was innocent...]

Was that...

Not the dream...

The knife trembled. Sirius's chest hitched convulsively. Was he crying? No, he couldn't be. Sirius _never_ cried.

Something stronger than sense or memory made her hand go slack and the knife dropped to the tiles with a clatter but she paid it no mind--her only thought was to comfort him, and her arms went around him and his thick hair brushed her cheek, maybe, maybe--

He looked up suddenly and she almost choked with the sudden shock of seeing him full in the face for the first time.

He was as she remembered him, in all the ways that were first evident--the hair, as thick and unruly as thistle, tumbling in those beautiful multicolored eyes, the long lean limbs, the wide, playful mouth. But he was different from the picture she had stored in the back of her mind for fifteen years--different in the way he held himself, even when kneeling: his body tenser, anticipatory of danger. And his eyes, the same _difference_ in them that she could feel somehow in her own: that shadow, that crawling mist of blackness that haunted the pupils, capturing the light from the small kitchen windows. The sunlight slanted over him, catching the curve of a broad shoulder, a catlike muscle. He was not smiling.

"Did they lie to me?" she whispered. "Was it you at all?"

"What kind of a fucking question is that?" asked Sirius, with an attempt at a smile. "If it was me, how could I possibly tell you so when you're looking at me like that?"

_Of course it wasn't Sirius. How could I have possibly believed that Sirius could ever..._

She had to look away, could no longer look in those eyes without calling _herself _the traitor.

He swallowed, hard; she saw the muscles working like tiny pistons under the newly-tanned skin. He'd never been tan before. This, too, was disorienting. "Do you forgive me?"

She laughed softly; it was hard to laugh through the painful lump in her throat, but it was better than crying, which seemed to be the only other alternative. "I don't know." She felt so, so tired. All she wanted was just to sleep, not to have to face up to this sudden future that she had been dropped into. "I don't know, Sirius. I wanted you to trust me, and I trusted you more than anything else in the world--I wish you could just have _told _me, and maybe I could have--could have helped, or _something_--"

"I didn't know what to do!" One of his hands crept into her hair, pulling her tighter against him. She thought about resisting, and then decided against it. She had very long fingernails, after all, if he should _try_ something. "I'm not used to that. I'm not used to not knowing who to trust."

Maybe if he hadn't said the last word--_trust_--she wouldn't have felt that sudden drop in her stomach that made her pull away, but he had, and she did. "Why didn't you trust me?"

"Fuck that," said Sirius softly, "I didn't trust anyone. I didn't trust _Dumbledore_, for Christ's sake!"

"You weren't _sleeping _with Dumbledore! You weren't _engaged_ to Dumbledore!" A short pause. "Right?" _And stop saying _fuck_. It makes me think you're still the same person._

Sirius made a short hacking noise that sounded a bit like an attempt at laughter, but it slid away quickly. He grasped her wrist in a painfully tight grip, locking eyes with her. "Ani, I didn't even trust _myself_."

"But you trusted _Peter_."

Sirius shook his head, slowly, bitterly. "Bullshit I trusted Peter. You know what? The reason I told Lil and James to choose Peter was because I felt _sorry_ for him. All he ever wanted to do was hide, that's what I thought, and I could just give him a good reason to do exactly what he wanted, and I wouldn't have to worry about betraying my best friend. But I betrayed _you_ and I knew it. I knew it. Ani....sweetheart..." His voice broke.

Something crumpled inside her, something very basic and essential, and she suddenly couldn't keep back all of the sounds and the words and the images, flash-flash-flash as quick as lightning, blasting through her mind like knives, every single moment they'd spent together, every quick, preoccupied kiss, every selfish shouting match, everything. She felt, rather than heard, the little moan that burst from her throat, feeling like she was falling through a million years of cold, black water, drowning in the flood of memory--

But his arms were around her, and the water swirled angrily, hungrily, around her feet, while those arms kept her from falling. 

When the first slipping tears came, she didn't even notice them because she was laughing at the same time. The novelty of laughter, true laughter, made her lightheaded--or maybe it was Sirius who was making her vision swim and her muscles weak. He was smiling--oh God, he was smiling. It was amazing, that smile. What could she have done to make him smile? 

She closed her eyes against its brilliance just as he kissed her.

It was a soft, unobtrusive, melting sort of kiss. There were no trumpets, just a cool, silky blue calm, a peacefulness against the cruel tide of recollection. She spent the first two seconds trying to remember what to do with her nose, and then lost herself for a moment in the soft building sweetness of it--and then she found herself smiling against his lips. It was so...well, the last thing she'd expected was for it to be so _comfortable_, almost routine, almost _boring_, but so it was: like breathing in, like reflex. To her own horror, she found herself craving a sesame-seed bagel. And a cup of coffee. She almost laughed again.

"Cough," said someone, with warm humor. "Whoops! Cough. 'Scuse me."

"Hello, Remus," said Sirius against her forehead, and she felt his silent laughter against her own chest. She gripped him just a little bit tighter, and rested her head against his chest. There was a white-hot tightness behind her eyes, and she didn't know why; maybe it was the conspicuous absence of James and Lily.

And only Harry left, tiny baby Harry, to take Prongs' place, and Lil's. Not so tiny anymore. Maybe he looks just like James; maybe he has his own Lily. She didn't know. She didn't know anything about him and he was her almost-son.

And that was why it couldn't be quite right, she realized, because of those missing years that should have been Harry's, that should have been spent helping him and teaching him and showing him what his father would have done. That was why it could never be quite right--and now she was truly crying, her breath hitching in painful sobs as she finally let herself crumple the way she'd wanted to before, not even noticing how tightly Sirius held her or the inaudible words of comfort he whispered into her ear.

*

Hermione was singing.

This was not, Harry thought, a very good choice on her part. Though well-engineered for talking louder than anyone else in class, when it came to carrying a tune Hermione's voice was a bit less adept. She could, he thought with a slight wince, hit the notes, if you took a very loose definition of "hit;" somehow, however, that didn't make the tune (such as it was) any easier on his suffering ears.

"Herm," he called from under the pillow, unplugging one thumb from his ears, "what _is _that?"

"Like a child, you whisper softly to me...da dum hmm hmm, just like a chiiild..."

"Herm? Can you hear me?"

"It's like a dream, no end and no beginning, you're here with me, it's like a dream, let the choir sing!"

"Do you think," Harry yelled, "the choir could maybe _not _sing?"

"When you call my name, it's like a little prayer! I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there! In the midnight hour, I can feel your power, just like a prayer, you know I take you there! When you call my name, it's like a little prayer! I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there! In the midnight hour, I can feel your power, just like a prayer, you know I take you there! Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh--"

Harry gave a sigh of exasperation and rolled out of bed with a thump, shoving his head out the door and staggering down the staircase to the common room. Hermione was sitting in one of the poufs by the fire, a strange quicksilver glow hovering around her ears, her eyes squinched shut, giving an impassioned rendition of the song with accompanying dance moves.

"Life is a myyyyysteeery, everyone must staaand aaaalone, I hear you caaaaalll my name, and it feels like home. Just like a prayer, (oooh) your voice can take me there! (ooh) just like a muse to me, (ooh) you are a mystery, (oooh) just like a dream, (ooh) you are not what you seem, (oooh) just like a prayer, no choice your voice can taaaake meee--"

Harry, showing admirable restraint, tapped her on the shoulder.

Hermione yelped and fell out of the chair, the green glow dissipating with a little poof from around her ears. "_Je_sus, Harry!"

"I'm sorry. It had to be done." He grinned at her and leaned against the wall. 

Struggling to her feet, Hermione planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Do you have _any idea_ how long it took me to set up that charm? Just so I could listen to some music?"

"I'd sacrifice any amount of hours _not _to listen to that music," Harry pointed out. "What was it, anyway?"

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "You iggerant bastard. Haven't you ever heard of Madonna? And you call yourself a Muggle!"

"I never called myself a Muggle!" said Harry in mock outrage, and then, mimicking Hermione's tones, "Do you have _any idea_ what you sounded like?" He modulated to a creaky falsetto: "When you call mah nayum, it's lahk a litt-uh prayuh--"

A crimson-faced Hermione lunged forward with the obvious intention of boxing his ears, but Harry, laughing, skittered out of her reach, swatting her hands away with his own. She, not to be deterred, leapt off the floor with surprising dexterity and kicked him in the shins. He tripped over her feet and landed hard on the carpet, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.

There was a tap on the window. Hermione stuck out her tongue at Harry and stepped over his prone, gasping body to flip the latch.

She had a sudden impression of flying silver talons, a pinwheel-scatter of black feathers, and threw her arms across her face just in time as something raked through the air with an unholy screech. There was a sudden searing streak of pain down one cheek. _That's _not_ an owl!_

Harry was on his feet in an instant, his laughter snapped off as suddenly as it had begun. "What the hell--?"

The bird swooped through the air to perch atop the fireplace, ruffling its feathers and fixing both of them with one glaring red eye.

"All right," said Harry dangerously, groping with one hand for the poker. "Out of my common room, you stupid animal."

It was a raven, Hermione realized. _Nevermore_, and she felt a bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to choke her. Something warm and sticky trickled down one cheekbone. She raised one finger to it, dazed; it came away glistening and red. _That must have been deep, _she thought hazily. For some reason she felt sick and nauseous, as though someone had hit her over the head instead of just scratching her along the face.

Harry jabbed at the raven with the poker. It hopped out of the way, cawing maliciously. There was a small brown paper package tethered to one leg that dragged along the mantle as it moved, rustling.

"Don't," mumbled Hermione, trying to stop her head from pounding, "don't scare it..."

Harry, unheeding, swiped at the bird with the poker--

and it vanished.

Harry gasped and dropped the poker onto his own foot. The package remained on the mantlepiece, ostensibly harmless but somehow ominous.

"That was _weird_," said Hermione, insightfully. With the disappearance of the bird, the sick feeling had cleared from her head, but she still felt vaguely dizzy, and her feet felt very far away. 

"D'you want to open it?" asked Harry, eyeing the packet rather nervously.

"It says 'Harry Potter,' and I'm a coward," said Hermione reasonably.

He turned--maybe about to laugh, and then the dark green eyes raked over her face and went wide in shock. "Herm! It cut you?" 

She rubbed her hand absently over her cheekbone. "Yeah, I guess it did..."

He reached out one brown hand, tanned face full of concern, and traced over the cut with one thumb. 

It almost shocked her that he had to lean down to examine the thin line of blood. She had this bizarre conception of his being four feet tall and childish, and now he was sixteen and lean and tanned and maybe two feet taller than her recollection of things. _Those ridiculous glasses, _she thought rather affectionately. _That's why. They make him look twelve._

No, it wasn't the glasses, she realized suddenly it was the eyes themselves, because they were so goddamned _trusting_, so utterly without cynicism, so different from...well, from other eyes she'd had occasion to stare into earlier in the day.

He coughed abruptly and pulled his hand away from her face. "Oh--er--do--do you want a band-aid or something, I mean, you probably don't, but I should do a charm--or something--oh, hell. I don't know any first aid charms. Do you--"

"'Sokay," she interrupted, grinning at him. "No big deal. It's shallow, and it doesn't hurt." Hermione gestured towards the package. "Shouldn't you open that?"

Harry glared sideways at her. "Huh. Well, if this tower goes up in flames in ten seconds, don't blame _me_--" and he reached for the package, dangling it gingerly between finger and thumb as though it might explode any second. He ripped it open.

Something small and silvery fell out and clanged to the hearthstones, rolling in a tight, metallic circle before spinning to a halt.

Harry stared down at it--picked it up--and then nearly threw it away again, his face abruptly very pale and very tight--

"No," he said shakily, "_no_--" and then turned and ran from the room, leaving Hermione staring, confused and frightened, after him.

  
  
  
  


* * *

Uh oh! now that Ani's remotely normal, we have foisted her madness on Harry. Sorry, y'all.   
  


Thanks section! Huzzah! Okay, great big schnoogle-ramas go to:

Simon of many cameos, Jeremy (what song? what song?!), Amanita Lestrange, my dearest cousin Lizzy, Sherry the most magnifico, Static (can i possibly convert you to the cult of H/H?), Amethyst, Minzzer (I am a bad rave, i am *weep*) Jocetta (o_O extra...large?), Destiny Malzen (leave the slipper alone!), Thena (hee hee. i might not put Harry and Hermy together. It all depends...), Jade Chen, Sphynx (you'll just have to wait and see, won't you? ;P) Firecross (who i madly, MADLY i say, adore, and who should be pleased to know about a great big chunk o' InGreatPain!Snape is coming up) Viola (who wrote the AMAZING *dreamwalk blue*, and if you haven't read that yet, you're a very deprived person and you have my pity. go read NOW.), STINKERBELL (i miss you, stinky...*sniffle* come back!) Cassie cassie poo poo poo, Karina (hum. Remus and Sirius seem to have been somewhat distracted--but it's an important conversation, so they'll come back to it eventually), Al-o-rama (you've all been good children and read Snitch! and Time of Trial....riiiiiiiight? btw, Al, thanks a LOT for getting "dancing in the moonlight" stuck in my head for the past three days...you're a real pal *g*), my youngest cousin Hydy-O, Olivia (this is probably the longest Thank-You section yet...heh heh heh.) Soz (otherwise known as the magnificent sozzie, sozzerama, sozziepoo, &c., &c.) Moony Lupin (*cough*...or has she?), heidi t. (must i plug still more? well, I will anyway. read *a surfeit of curses.* because it kicks ass and i said so.), Zephyr, Arabella Figg (what's up, girly?), Veralidaine (hurrah for flexible r/h-ers!) Traci of the Wild Magic, Sashina Potter, Pez, Tigress Lily, whichever of my darling cousins reviewed as "Teenage Witches", Bec (... "Let's get it on?" hmm....could change the mood of the story considerably. *g*) Purnima, Crymson Tyrdrop, Siria Snape (Boxers!Sirius is coming next week...) Kate, Portia, Pipsqueak (*hides* i was working on this story, i swear i was!) Circe, Nora (yeah, Wilde rocks), Princess Lily, OrangeGoddess, and (*whew!*) Sarah D.! You all fine, upstanding citizens. I commend you. Have a virtual donut.

part four WILL be up within two weeks, barring my death or crippling.

  
  
  
  



	4. Announcement: the future of TLL.

Dear everybody:

*clears throat*

*dramatic pause*

When, in the course of human events, a fanfiction writer finds herself posting the fifteenth part of a long and arduous series, she may find it necessary to refer back to earlier parts of her story in order to make sure she keeps her plot straight and her characters clear.

When I did it, I found the following: A confusing, overcomplicated plot with way too many unnecessary loose ends and red herrings; a set of characters whose characterizations I now disagree with and find two-dimensional and boring; plot holes you could drive a semi through; a sneering, melodramatic pantomime villain; a swooning, overly-lovable Mary Sue of a main character, particularly in the earliest chapters, before Cassie and Stinky came and helped me *schnoogles Cassie and Stinky*; a complete lack of timing throughout the chapters (a dragging first half and a rushing second); and overall, a great big mess of a story which, along with various other nasty hiccups in my private life and, of course, the re-adjustment (read: scary as all Hell) period that accompanies one's graduation from high school, led me to the inevitable conclusion that I should immediately give up my dream of being a freelance writer and find some job that would better suit my talents, such as picking lint out of carpets. I couldn't finish this story, I thought in horror. I couldn't even read it without wincing.

So I took a break. I should have been clearer about it, because I know there were..euh...*counts on fingers* approximately three people out there who actually missed TLL (*gasp*) and might want it back, especially since I promised it within two weeks *hangs head in shame* But I wasn't, as much as I now regret that.

At the moment, to try and overcome my looming sense of despair about this story, I'm undertaking two big projects: one, a complete revamping of BL and TLL, and two, "The Beast", a canon fairytale/founderfic that I've been longing to work on for some months now. I've already done illustrations *grins proudly*

Part 4 of TLL is done; however, it's continued from rather a different story than the BL that those of you who are fans have read. Sure, there are no major plot changes, but I've already done things that change the future of the story considerably; so I don't plan to post TLL4 until I have finished and posted the BL revisions. 

Please don't think that taking on "The Beast" will change the "workload" I'm taking on in fan fiction and thus the emphasis I put on TLL. At the moment, TLL is more a chore than an enjoyment, and it shows in my writing--to steal Ebony's metaphor, I screwed up when I was babysitting these kids, and now I simply don't want to work with the monsters I'e created ever again. I *like* "Beast". It's *fun.* It's a side project that reminds me of the reasons that I began writing fan fiction in the first place, and that satisfaction will hopefully help me take pleasure in writing TLL again.

Thanks very much for all your understanding. I love you all--and I really appreciate the kindness you've shown towards me. In particular, to everyone who wrote in their support and concern--thank you. You don't know how much it helped me.

-Rave 

  
  


P.S.And here's a little Draco-abuse: a TLL4 tidbit for you.

P.P.S. I'm considering whether or not to take TLL and BL off of ff.n. Whether I do or not, all three of you who like this story and aren't on it should go join the yahoogroup HP_Paradise (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Paradise). It's more fun than a barrel of rabid monkeys, and Ebony and Heidi and Yael and Al and Dadgrid and John Walton Sarah Rettger and Viola and all those fine people are there too, and Starling draws pictures for us and we all have parties where we sing karaoke and dance the chicken dance and drink...non-alcoholic cocktails, because at least one of us (me) is underage and underage drinking is bad.Also, don't do drugs, practice safe sex, and remember: truth, justice, and the AMERICAN WAY! Happy fourth of July.

  
  


__

Three Leaves Left, Part 4.

Omnes Una Manet Nox

_Then the darkness at her feet rose up and her lungs froze in her throat and there was no air, no air no air no air and she knew, somehow, that she'd felt this suffocation before, but there was no one in this dead world to lift her from the water--_

_The wave suddenly crested and broke, leaving her beached and gasping..._

_ ...in a Hogwarts classroom._

_ Gingerly, Hermione picked herself up. She was completely dry, though her body felt like one enormous bruise, and she was freezing cold. Shivering a little, she stooped down to catch her breath--and then froze._

_ "--worthless child!"_

_ She dared not turn around. She knew that voice, and to face its owner would mean the worst for her...as though facing away would save her._

_ "Face me!"_

_ Slowly, she turned around to stare full into the face of Lucius Malfoy._

_ He was not speaking to her, she realized with a rush of giddy relief. He did not even see her...he was facing her, but his eyes went straight through her, to someone on her other side. She whirled._

_ "Father..."_

_ It was Draco who stood behind her, looking very small and very pale--somehow, though Hermione knew him to be nearly a head taller than she, he looked like a child all of a sudden. A blotch of purple bloomed on his cheekbone. "Dad, I--I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His usually low, even voice climbed to a high pitch and gasped into a break--"Dad, _please!"

_Lucius moved like a cat--all Hermione saw was a rush of black robes and suddenly Draco was up against the wall, a trickle of blood leaking from his lower lip. Hermione let out an involuntary gasp and stumbled backwards._

_ Draco didn't move to cover the wound, to try to soothe it--only stood there, gray eyes open and pleading. Lucius gazed at him with open contempt._

_ "I tried to raise you to know the importance of our family, Draco." The voice was dangerous, angry. "Did I fail? Have you forgotten how important our legacy is?" Another blur of movement--a sickening crack--and Draco was against the wall again, barely standing, his eyes going momentarily dazed and unfocused as he raised a hand to cradle his head._

_ Lucius snarled, "Don't you dare touch it!" and Draco's hand fell again to his side. "You have to learn to bear pain, boy."_

_ "I'm sorry, Dad." Draco's voice was barely a whisper._

_ "You should be." Lucius whirled abruptly on his son again. "Why, Draco, is this kind of behavior forbidden?"_

_ "It's a weakness." Draco leaned against the wall, steadying himself. His arm strained against his side, as though it had been tied there. _

_ Lucius reached--grabbed Draco by a fistful of robes at his collar, and lifted him into the air. Hermione let out an involuntary shriek which neither Malfoy heard. "And in whom have we seen this weakness before, Draco?"_

_ Draco's eyes were wild, panicking--"I--I don't know, Dad! I don't know!"_

_ Lucius dropped him, dispassionately. Draco crumpled, not allowing a sound to escape him. _

Stop it! _screamed Hermione, throwing herself at Lucius--and falling right through him._

_ "Your uncle Owen, boy," said Lucius softly. "Have you forgotten your uncle?"_

_ For a moment, looking into that cold, pale face, Hermione could have sworn she saw a flicker of pain in Lucius Malfoy's expression as his eyes swept over his fallen son. "Have you forgotten what happened to him?"_

_ Barely a whisper. "No. Dad. Sir." _

_ "What happened to him?"_

_ "He...he got what he deserved." The words came out flat, rote._

_ "You're damn right he got what he deserved. He was nothing better than a dirty faggot, boy, unfit to hold the name of Malfoy. And you'll turn out no better."_

_ "I'm sorry. Dad, please, I'm so sorry!"_

_ Lucius stood motionless for a moment._

_ And then fell to his knees, sweeping the small body of his son into his arms, smoothing back the tousled silver hair. "Draco, son, hush. I only want what's best for you. I want you to be proud and strong in your name. I want you to be happy."_

_ "I know, Daddy. I know."_

_ "I have to do this, Draco, do you understand? I have to teach you to be strong, how not to feel anything, or you will never respect yourself. Do you understand?"_

_ "Of course." Draco pulled back, wincing just slightly as if the movement jarred him. "Yes, Dad."_

_ "Good," murmured Lucius, bending down as if to kiss his son's forehead--and in a sudden harsh movement struck him another blow across the face._

_ Hermione screamed again and hid her face in her hands. As he'd leaned in, halfway between kissing and striking his son, she'd seen Lucius's face..._

He's insane, _she thought in a blind panic. _He's sick and he's crazy and he's _dangerous_ and I can't just leave Malfoy--Draco--in here with him alone, no matter how much I hate him--

_Draco wheezed a little. Hermione peered up through her fingers at him, now bleeding from the nose as well as the mouth, crouched in a corner. _

_ Lucius stood up quickly, shaking strands of whiteblond hair out of his eyes. "I can't stay here and make sure you toe the line properly, boy; I'm flying to Wicklow tonight." A look somewhere between reverence and self-satisfaction hovered around his lips. "Our Lord is finally putting his plan into action, and it is essential that I be there to see it through." _

_ Draco's blue-gray eyes went wide. "Father..."_

_ "You won't have to be in a school full of Mudbloods much longer," said Lucius calmly, pulling on his gloves and reaching for a traveling cloak that lay draped over the desk in the corner of the room. "And I, for one, will be relieved when you're no longer under their foul influence. If it weren't for your mother's sentimentality..." He paused, stiffened. There was a knocking at the door._

_ "Mr. Malfoy? Are you finished? I need to speak to Draco for a few moments."_

It's Dumbledore,_ thought Hermione, nearly sobbing with relief. _He'll stop this, he'll make sure Lucius doesn't do whatever he's going to...

_A snarl escaped Lucius's mouth as he whipped around to stare at the door. "Doddering old..." _

_ "Mr. Malfoy?"_

_ Lucius hissed between his teeth and flung one hand at the door. There was a flash of gold-green light for a moment and Hermione fell back, flinging a hand over her eyes--but it was gone as soon as it had come, and Lucius said, in his usual even, drawling tone, "He'll be out in a moment, Headmaster."_

Was that a soundblock? _wondered Hermione in horror. _How can he cast one inside Hogwarts? That shouldn't even be possible--

--and without a wand!

_Lucius whirled on his son again, dragging him to his feet by the collar of his robes, and whispered into his ear, "I may not be here to watch you, boy, but rest assured I'll find out about any...deviant...behavior. I recommend you not try anything." He dropped Draco's robes again and the boy swayed slightly, refusing to fall back or stumble. Lucius tossed him something, contemptuously: a handkerchief. "Clean yourself up while I speak to the headmaster."_

_ "Mr. Malfoy!" _

_ "Coming, Headmaster!" And then he was gone, the heavy_ _oak door slamming on its hinges behind him. _

_ Draco slid down the wall to the floor with a little bump and buried his head between his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs: a childlike pose, incongruous with the neatly pressed khakis and white shirt he wore. When he lifted his head again, there was blood spattering the pure-white shirt. Draco cursed softly_ _and pulled a wand from his pocket, pointing it at himself and muttering something, and suddenly the blood was simply...gone. Even his face was clean, though there was still a suspicious hint of darkness on one cheekbone, and his nose was still slightly red and swollen. It looked, Hermione realized, as if he had been crying; and of course that was the one thing he hadn't done._

_ The door creaked open again--Draco jumped to his feet--and Dumbledore's face appeared in the doorway, looking slightly worried. "Draco? May I speak to you?"_

_ "Yeah, sure," and Draco's voice was back to its old coldness. "I'm coming."_

_ The door closed behind them, leaving Hermione alone and terrified in the empty classroom. What was Malfoy going to do? What was _Voldemort_ going to do?_

You won't have to be in a school full of Mudbloods much longer.

Soon the children of Man will share our fate--those who are not lucky enough to have our lineage in them.

_Omnes una manet nox._

  
  


Somewhere very far away, the ring slipped from her nerveless hand.

  
  


and then there was a swirl while mind and body reunited and she gasped as though she'd been thrown into an ocean.


End file.
